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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038277">Venus Flytrap</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calebski/pseuds/Calebski'>Calebski</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crime Drama, F/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Hogwarts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:14:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,934</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038277</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calebski/pseuds/Calebski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn’t be this good. </p><p>More than any other thought, that was the one that kept drifting to the forefront of Hermione’s mind. The sentence lit up behind her eyes like a blinking neon sign and washed out all the other noise in a scream of day-glow pink.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>196</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A/N: Hello! A short multi-chapter Nevmione for you. This one was going to be another Misfits chapter, but the words kept coming, and it ended up flowing a bit better when split. This will be in three parts.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It shouldn’t be <em> this good</em>. </p><p>More than any other thought, that was the one that kept drifting to the forefront of Hermione’s mind. The sentence lit up behind her eyes like a blinking neon sign and washed out all the other noise in a scream of day-glow pink. </p><p>It shouldn’t be <em> this good</em>. </p><p>The same thought kept ricocheting around her mind like a pinball, possibly because she wasn’t capable of generating a new one. For the first time in her living memory, Hermione’s brain shut off. </p><p>It shouldn’t be <em> this good</em>. </p><p>Nevilles’ hands were calloused and firm, and just like everything else in this encounter, they were rougher than she had expected. Certainly rougher than she would have believed she would like.</p><p>Hermione wasn’t exactly a prude - at least, <em> she </em> wouldn’t have described herself that way. Luna had once labelled her a ‘delicate flower’ after listening to a story Hermione had blushingly told about her, admittedly PG, exploits. Hermione knew her friend had meant to be reassuring and possibly even complimentary, but it had left her feeling slightly vulnerable about her… <em> preferences</em>. </p><p>So what if she was a bit <em> vanilla</em>? When did people start looking down on the missionary position? And anyway, did it <em> really </em> matter if she had once (or possibly even twice) put off sex because she had just washed her sheets? Didn’t everyone do that? Hermione <em> liked </em>clean sheets; it was one of her few indulgences, it didn’t mean she was puritanical or uptight or without passion… she just didn’t like mess.</p><p>And yet, Neville Longbottom was drilling her against a wall in his sparsely furnished living room (<em> they hadn’t even made it up the stairs! </em> ) with one of his unrelenting hands pressing into the soft flesh of her left breast. His fingers, that had until moments ago been buried in the earth outside, were now leaving soil all over her skin. She should have <em> hated </em> it. Every now and again as he moved she could feel a course grit under his fingers that was irritating her skin and when she looked down, she could see painterly stripes of mottled brown his deft hands had left in their wake.  </p><p>She should have hated it. But she didn’t, <em> she couldn’t</em>. Not when it felt like this. </p><p>She had never felt so desirable, so insatiable, so free.</p><p>
  <em> She loved it.  </em>
</p><p>Hermione gasped as Neville rutted forward and the force of his upwards thrust made her head bang against the wall behind them. At this point, it was well worth a mild conclusion, just as long as he <em> never </em>stopped what he was doing.</p><p>Hermione clenched her thighs to hold on as Neville somehow sped up again. It occurred to her, as she bit into his shoulder in an effort to stifle the scream that was building in her throat, that she hadn’t <em> once </em>thought about the paintwork behind her head or how her low heels must have damaged the coffee table she had been perched on earlier to give them the extra height they had needed.</p><p>Maybe she was turning over a new leaf? Finally, shaking off the shackles of her naturally frigid demeanour. Or maybe, <em> just maybe</em>, she had never been with anyone good enough to make her surrender herself the chaos before?</p><p>Neville muttered an apology as he gripped her hip almost too tightly but the words ended on a groan that made Hermione shudder. He lifted his head to bite at her earlobe and then panted in her ear.</p><p>“So good, so <em>fucking good</em>, Hermione. Can’t… Can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this. I’ve stripped myself raw thinking of you… imagining you, <em>wanting</em> me.”</p><p>Hermione whimpered. He didn’t have to tell her, she could <em> feel </em> it. Despite his apparent carnal desperation, the sex was <em> intensely </em> personal. This wasn’t just about getting off, Neville wanted <em> her</em>, he had been driven to this level of extreme need by <em> her</em>. It was intoxicating, and it left Hermione wondering how in the hell she had missed such palpable chemistry before.</p><p>Neville gripped her sides and pushed her higher up the wall before pinning his forearm across her shoulders to lock her into place. Hermione felt her eyes cross as they fluttered closed. </p><p>It shouldn’t have been <em>this </em> good.</p><p>They shouldn’t have waited this long.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> 5 WEEKS EARLIER </em>
</p><p>After the war, the very last thing Hermione had expected to be doing was working for the Auror Department, even on an ad hoc, loosely defined, infrequent consultancy basis. But Harry had asked, and even fifteen years after they had first met, Hermione was still unable to say no to her friend.</p><p>Hermione had been resistant to doing anything connected to the legal field after graduation. Chasing criminals was too much like being on the run for her comfort. She vastly preferred the career in academia she had largely fallen into. But, on occasion, the Ministry solicited her opinion. As much as she would have preferred to be left alone in the home library she had been cultivating since she left school, Hermione couldn’t deny there was a small part of her that was incredibly flattered. </p><p>To date, her ‘consultancy’ work for the magical government had mostly consisted of helping the Department of Mysteries with sophisticated translations and the like, and the occasional bit of advice to the Auror Department when an unfathomable potion or indecipherable rune pattern was being used as part of a crime. </p><p>They didn’t come to Hermione because they believed she would know the answers, even her reputation as the ‘brain of the golden trio’ hadn’t placed that burden on her head. They utilised her affinity for research, and her ability to discover answers quicker than anyone else they assigned to the case.</p><p>When she said yes <em>this time</em>, Hermione did so with limited information, which was a worryingly regular occurrence.</p><p>Hermione didn’t know it yet, but this was going to be something entirely different, and this time, she wasn’t being brought in alone. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> DAY ONE </em>
</p><p>Hermione had received her summons in the usual way, Harry had stuck his head through her fireplace - all messy hair and grins - and asked her to ‘come by’ as if he was inviting her to his house for tea.</p><p>She had thought about protesting; after all, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have enough of her own work to be getting on with. There were research papers piled up all around her desk, and she had deadlines and urgent requests coming out of her ears. But she didn’t. Instead, Hermione shook her head in her familiar way and told Harry he would see her in a couple of hours. </p><p>Once the fireplace had gone dark, Hermione kicked off the slippers she liked to wear while working and walked over to the locked cupboard on far the side of the room. The key was hidden behind a false panel in a nearby bookcase, and though she could imagine Moody scolding her for hiding a key in the same room as the intended lock, Hermione felt it was secure enough for her purposes. </p><p>At the bottom of the locked cupboard, on a shadowy shelf, there was a box. In the innocuous box, there was a safe, and in that safe, along with the paper paraphernalia that came with adult life, was her old beaded bag. </p><p>The accessory had seen better days, and even ‘beaded’ wasn’t a very accurate description anymore. Most of the cheap plastic baubles had been brushed off and scattered a long time ago. At least once a year, Hermione considered replacing it. It was all well and good to flippantly remark that a garment had ‘gone through the wars’, but this one actually had, and it looked it. In the end, Hermione had never been able to part with it. It served as a reminder of many things. Years later, whenever Hermione felt she was unsure of herself, she would take the bag out of its hiding spot and run her fingers over the crumpled fabric, and remember who she really was and what she was capable of. </p><p>An hour later, once Hermione had managed to put most of her projects on ice, she emerged into the Ministry atrium, casually gripping the Thermos she had brought from home. While she was willing to do her best for magic and country, as it were, that did not extend to drinking coffee from the pot Harry had stationed outside his shoebox of an office. Hermione was sure that thing had <em> never </em> been properly cleaned.  </p><p>She made her way to the Auror division almost on autopilot, having come to know the route well after meeting Harry and Ron there for so many years. They might not have seen each other as much as they once had - it would have been difficult to do so as they no longer boarded together - but they were still frequently in each others company. They had woven themselves into the fabric of each other’s existences. It would have been harder to let go of the boys than Hermione could imagine. Thankfully, they appeared to feel the same. </p><p>Hermione paused to say a quick hello to Seamus and Dean, who even in this post-school life were partnered together, then she saw Harry. He was hanging by the water cooler looking as much like an adolescent pretending to be an adult as Hermione often felt she did when she caught sight of herself in important meetings. He greeted her warmly and thanked her profusely, which made Hermione roll her eyes.</p><p>Harry escorted her down to one of the small briefing rooms she had been into before, but, even though he chatted consistently, he never mentioned anything about what her task was for the day. Typically, Harry would have been so keen for her to get going he would have been chasing down the corridor to see if he could find her, anxious that she be brought up to speed so she could bring them an answer in record time. Harry’s <em> unending </em> confidence in her abilities was something Hermione found rather endearing and so it was even more jarring that today he seemed to be entirely focused on baby Albus’ knew back tooth and what Ginny was planning on making for ‘family’ dinner on Sunday.</p><p>When Hermione was finally shown into the room, she wasn’t the first to arrive. On the other side of a ridiculously large square table was Head Auror Robards which instinctively made Hermione straighten her spine. She hadn’t met Cynthia often, only a passing word or two at functions over the years but Hermione <em> knew </em> of her, everyone did. The head of the Auror division had a formidable and rather excellent reputation.</p><p>The only other person in the room was much more familiar to Hermione, with a reputation just as good, if somewhat less intimidating. Neville Longbottom was sat at the table with his hands on his knees, attempting to drum away nerves if Hermione was any judge, and considering how long she had known him, she probably was.</p><p>Hermione greeted him genially though she was instantly embarrassed by how long it had been since they had last met up. It must have been six months since they had been at the pub at the same time, with all the usual crowd, and yet now that she thought of it, Hermione couldn’t remember if they had even spoken that last time. </p><p>The longer they all went without meetups, the harder it became to arrange them. Lives got busy, people scattered. When Hermione <em> did </em>make it, which wasn’t all of the time, she often found herself penned to one side catching up with only one or two people while the rest of those present did the same. </p><p>She smiled at Neville and took a seat next to him, feeling a bit strange as she wondered if she even knew where he lived now. He’d been teaching at Hogwarts almost since school had ended, but Hermione vaguely remembered him saying something once about getting his own place outside of the grounds. </p><p>Neville gave her a little wave and a sheepish smile that reminded Hermione so much of the eleven-year-old he had once been she almost laughed. </p><p>They had been on the peripheries of each other’s lives for a while now. Hermione supposed it was like that, after boarding school. All these people that you had seen almost every day for years and lived through a travesty together and then… you grew up, and you grew apart. For the first time, it struck Hermione how sad that was. </p><p>Her train of thought was interrupted as a couple of people Hermione didn’t recognise walked into the meeting room with a distinct emotionless purpose and took seats. Then Harry shut the door and adjusted the already closed blinds before fiddling with the security panel.</p><p>“Thank you for coming,” Head Auror Robards began in a brusk way that suggested gratitude did not come naturally to her. “I’ll not beat around the bush; this matter is <em> highly </em> confidential and should not be spoken of outside of this room without express clearance.”</p><p>Hermione’s ears pricked up. Suddenly her imagined trip down to the archives to look at a four-hundred-year-old carved stone or other such artefact looked less and less likely.</p><p>“The information I am about to share must not fall into the hands of people outside of the Ministry, as such, I am sure you will not be offended if we require a vow on your magic to assure us of your secrecy before you leave here today?”</p><p>Hermione and Neville shared a glance before both of them indicated they would be happy to comply. After all, they weren’t being given an option.</p><p>At Robard’s signal, one of the men Hermione had not been introduced to stepped forward and handed out a series of dense document packets. Neville and Hermione had three each. When he was done, he resumed his seat and Robards sat forward, elbows resting on the table as she steepled her fingers.</p><p>“Simply put, we believe there is a serial killer targeting people in the magical community.”</p><p>Ice slid down Hermione’s spine, and her accusing gaze darted to Harry, who was studiously avoiding her. <em> How could he lure her here without warning? Bloody disaster magnet of a friend. She should never have agreed to leave her library and her comfortable slippers. </em>Hermione blew out a hard breath and pulled the top file towards her as Robards continued to brief them.</p><p>“We didn’t connect the dots at first, there were too many variables to make the required links, but as time has gone on, we have come to believe that one person or several people acting together are responsible for as many as fifteen deaths over at least the last five years. The case files in front of you are the ones we have identified, and we have a team dedicated to going back over these files with a fine-tooth comb and filling in as much information as possible.”</p><p>Hermione’s fingers worked through the first bound stack of manilla parchment as her brain whirred to keep up. What followed was a ten-minute description of the crimes that had taken place, and the possible theories they had been working with so far. There were beheadings, exsanguinations, poisonings, stabbings… you name it, and it was there. </p><p>Hermione glanced over each case and felt increasingly lost with every page that turned. “Forgive me if I’m asking an obvious question,” she said eventually when the room had been quiet for far too long. “But why us?”</p><p>Robards gestured towards Harry, who sat forward with a kind of attention Hermione had never seen him display at school. “Frankly, Mione,” he said, taking some of the edges off his earlier avoidance with his familiar tone, “we’re stuck. Despite all the information we have, we cannot begin to narrow it down to any kind of pattern that will hold water. We need something, a hook, a slither, anything. Just enough light at the end of the tunnel to guide us forward.”</p><p>Hermione looked down at the list that was on the top of the first file. It showed the bare details of each murder, date, method, victim information. </p><p>“But all the crimes are so different,” she said, “the victimology appears completely random.”</p><p>“How did you even put it all together in the first place?” Neville asked, and Hermione looked back at Robard’s keen to hear the answer. Robards rubbed a hand over her face, and Hermione wondered when she had last slept.  </p><p>“All open cases are transcribed onto a system so that the files are easily searchable should some new evidence emerge at a later date. The witch responsible, who has been doing that job for the last twenty years, alerted us that something seemed off.”</p><p>“Which was?” Hermione asked eagerly, and Harry replied.</p><p>“Plants,” he said, indicating the third file they had been given. “They are all connected to plants in some way.”</p><p>Neville sat up straighter in his chair as he opened the file Harry had indicated. “How?”</p><p>Robards shrugged. “Nothing too obvious, sadly for us. It isn’t a calling card, at least not in any way we have seen them used before. In some instances plants were used as a weapon of sorts; in others, they were left at the scene. Some of the victims were known to have an interest in herbology. We don’t have anything tangible, but it’s there. It’s enough for us to know we are being taunted.”</p><p>Stealing herself, Hermione reopened the file in front of her and made herself stop at the pictures she had flicked through too quickly to see before. The crime scene photos were… gruesome, though, thank Merlin, static. She had never even considered the possibilities of a moving, magical photo in such a context, and she hoped she never had to see one. </p><p>Hermione saw a glimpse of a thick green stem wrapped around a bruised throat and some petals placed over another unseeing face. Someone had enjoyed this. The thought was sickening. </p><p>“What do you want us to do?” she asked as she slid the file shut. </p><p>“Find the link,” Robards answered simply. “Failing that, find something, anything we can use. Granger, we have brought you in before. Longbottom, you have the expertise that we believe may be pertinent. We would like you to work together and review the case files and see what you come up with.”</p><p>“That’s an awful lot of pressure, with not very much to go on,” Neville said, and Hermione couldn’t help but agree. </p><p>Head Auror Robards was undeterred, Hermione wondered if the esteemed department head had ever been dissuaded off her chosen course before. It didn’t seem likely. </p><p>“This is part of a multi-faceted response from the Ministry, and make no mistake we are throwing everything we have at this. While you are working for us in such a capacity, your clearance is total. I would strongly encourage you to reach out for and use whatever resources you need.”</p><p>Hermione almost rolled her eyes. She may have done if it hadn’t been for the severe nature of the crimes they were discussing. It was always the same when she came in ‘whatever you want’. Hermione wondered if that was truly the case or whether their freedom with words came from the fact that they knew all she ever wanted was books, most of them being ones that were free and readily available to borrow.</p><p>“However, there is one more thing that I must ask of you?” Hermione sat back in her seat as she felt a degree of trepidation as Robards spoke. “We would like you to go into partial hiding to get this done.”</p><p>Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the weight of Hermione’s gaze. </p><p>“We believe that someone in the Auror corps might be passing on information, voluntarily or otherwise. It would be safest if you were untraceable while you worked. There will be other teams dispatched who will be doing the same, and everyone is to report into me directly. Don’t tell anyone here were you are going. Not even Potter.”</p><p>Harry harrumphed in a way that let Hermione know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had tried to overrule that part of the plan before, and had evidently lost. </p><p>“Hermione?” Neville asked, and Hermione turned to look at him. She could see he was happy to help, Neville had never been hard to read, he wore his emotions just as plainly as she did though Hermione believed that his were often brighter and happier than hers. Neville could always be relied upon to do the <em> right thing </em>, and despite her trepidation, Hermione knew they had to do what they could.  </p><p>She straightened herself in her seat and leant forward. “Okay. Where do we start?”</p><p>-/-/-/-</p><p>Despite her earlier resolve to stick to the beverage she had brought with her, an hour after she had arrived, Hermione was in the Ministry canteen sampling the best their expresso machine had to offer. Neville sat on the other side of a table that was every bit as small as the one in the briefing room had been big. </p><p>“So,” he said with a crinkly smile Hermione realised she had desperately missed as soon as she saw it. “What’s the plan?”</p><p>Despite the repeated assertions that they should keep <em> everything </em> a secret, it had been agreed that Hermione and Neville should be <em> visible </em> in the canteen once their meeting in the Auror department had come to a close. They would have been seen arriving, and it would be easier to play off their lie that they were at the Ministry seeing Harry if they had a casual catch up for all to see while arranging a few logistics. </p><p>Hermione broke off a crumbly wedge from the muffin Neville had insisted on getting for her and willed her stomach to calm down so she could brave a few mouthfuls.  </p><p>“Head Auror Robards,” she began but was cut off by Neville sniggering. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” he said placatingly. “It just reminded me of you <em> always </em>making us say professor when we were at school.” Hermione felt herself flush and Neville’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t mocking you, I promise. It was… It’s a nice memory.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Hermione said, trying to sound breezy and unconcerned. “Anyway, it was suggested that we source and set up a remote place for us to stay that we could use as an incident room. Somewhere we can’t be traced to start working through all the evidence.”</p><p>“England?” Neville asked as he broke open his own muffin, though he made no more move to eat it than Hermione had with hers. </p><p>She nodded. “I think it would be easiest to remain close.”</p><p>The ‘in case we get discovered and have to make a quick getaway’ remained unsaid, but Hermione knew Neville would have been aware of the dangers. It was no more his first rodeo than it was hers. The thought was comforting in a way. </p><p>“How long do we have?”</p><p>Hermione swallowed. “Harry said that there are currently thirty days between each kill, but that can’t be taken as fact. They don’t know for sure that they haven’t missed out cases from the pack they have put together. The parameters for what<em> could be </em> attributable to the same person is too loose to know anything for certain.”</p><p>Neville fiddled with the cuff on his jumper. “They <em> might </em> have missed one, but I doubt it, some of these… the information we have suggests a pretty elaborate setup. If they’ve managed to do this for at least five years without going into a frenzy, you imagine that control will last.”</p><p>Hermione shuddered but didn’t argue the point. Instead, she swallowed down a mouthful of disgusting coffee and watched the people milling around them. It was just after the main lunch rush and the government workers were beginning to disperse from their little groups to trudge back up to their departments. </p><p><em> How many of them knew? </em> Hermione wondered. Probably a tiny number. She doubted the general populace would be eating lunch, gossiping and causally flirting if they knew a serial killer was on the loose. But then again, maybe they would be? </p><p>“This is all a bit surreal,” she said eventually, and Neville scoffed. </p><p>“No more than three-headed dogs, rampant werewolves or fighting Death Eaters during what was supposed to be a school term.”</p><p>Hermione returned his tentative smile though she feared it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe, this is erm… I’m just a bit scared, I guess. You would think I’d be more desensitised but those photos… Maybe I’m a coward, but I never wanted to go back to all this stuff. I’m happy sticking with my books and leaving the quest for justice to the boys.”</p><p>“You’re not a coward Hermione,” Neville said with an earnestness that made Hermione fidget. “I’ve seent he good you have done. You’re not the only one that didn’t want to be a hero.”</p><p>“Whatever you say, <em> snake slayer</em>,” Hermione teased, and Neville flushed. </p><p>“I’ve told you not to call me that,” he murmured self consciously.</p><p>“Sorry,” Hermione said, still laughing to herself. It was probably best to stop annoying him if they were going to manage being holed up together for however long. </p><p>“When should we go?”</p><p>Hermione looked down at her bag where the files were now concealed. “As soon as possible, I suppose.”</p><p>Neville rubbed a hand up the back of his neck, looking vastly uncomfortable. “Will that be… will it be easy for you to get away with such little notice? I just realised that I don’t… I don’t know what your situation… Erm…”</p><p>Hermione felt terrible that he was so uncomfortable and she tried to focus on that rather than the crippling new awareness of just how easy it was for her to up and leave her life without anyone taking notice. </p><p>“Don’t worry, Neville,” Hermione replied. “I believe I can get away whenever I need to. No one is waiting around on me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> DAY TWO </em>
</p><p>Hermione let go of Neville’s hand and slowly spun in a circle to get an idea of their new surroundings. After their debriefs the day before, Neville had surprised and delighted her by offering to sort out their accommodations. After only a moment’s hesitation, Hermione had taken him up on it. Being able to share the load in the planning stages was a new sensation for her, but one she found she was already enjoying it.</p><p>Neville was reliable in a way that Hermione realised she had missed. He was quiet and dependable but certainly not the shy boy he had once been. Success had made Neville surer of himself. He was confident without a touch of arrogance, which was nothing short of amazing, given what he had achieved in his life. </p><p>Hermione closed her eyes as a stiff breeze whipped around her face, and she silently let go of caring what her hair would look like over the next few weeks. They had only been outside for a few minutes, and she already knew it would be a lost cause before she knew it. </p><p>Hermione wasn’t sure if the Ministry had anticipated they would get moving the next very day. Still, after her somewhat painfully embarrassing admittance that there was not a living person that would be the slightest bit inconvenienced by her sudden absence, it had made sense to get going. Hopefully, she would be able to hit upon something brilliant in record time, and then she would be able to convince herself that her old school friend wasn’t looking at her with barely concealed pity.</p><p>Hermione had initially suggested that Neville could meet her there in a few days, once he had made contingency plans, but he had surprised her again by telling her everything he had on his plate could wait, and he would be there with her.  </p><p>Hermione glanced at the unassuming whitewashed cottage and breathed in the sea air. She had to admit it was an excellent choice of location. As it was just past the core holiday season, there wouldn’t be too many people around, and yet it wouldn’t be so dead they would stick out like a sore thumb. </p><p>She wondered if Neville had thought up a cover story, but then, Hermione wondered if that we’re overthinking it. Why did they need to say more than the truth, that they were too friends off on a little break together? Well, close to the truth in any case.</p><p>“Ready?” Neville asked, and Hermione nodded before following him through the duck-egg blue lacquered door. It was quaint in a way that she maybe wouldn’t have liked for her own home, but she found it charming in a place she wasn’t destined to stay long - or so she hoped. </p><p>Hermione poked her head into the different rooms on the first floor before she found a neat if not spacious dining room. The house wasn’t big enough to have a study or even a spare bedroom - once she and Neville had claimed their own spaces - so she supposed this would have to do for a ‘base of operations’. At least that would leave them with the living room and the kitchen to venture into when they needed a break from the horror contained in manilla files. </p><p>As Neville busied himself in the kitchen before trudging up and down the stairs, Hermione spent the better part of an hour unpacking the information they had been given and organising the small reference library she had thrown together the night before. Neville had promised to bring a wide range of Herbology tomes, which took a further responsibility from her mind and after arranging the books in a way that made sense, Hermione cleared off the table and pulled out some parchment. The first thing they would have to do was put together a detailed timeline. The case dates were one thing, but it wasn’t nearly enough information. </p><p>Despite Neville’s insistence that he didn’t believe there were more crimes between the last case and now, Hermione thought that theory only held water if there hadn’t been ones missed before, and they just didn’t know that yet. Not until they could lay everything out and look at it from a distance.</p><p>Neville walked into Hermione’s diligently organised chaos as she was starting to take down the neutral pictures from around the room to give them some wall space. She’d packed a small whiteboard and a stack of pins and even some red cotton on a spool. She’d seen that on a detective show once, and even though it made her feel rather silly, if they were going to do this, they should probably do it properly. </p><p>“There are some basic provisions in there,” he said, gesturing towards the kitchen and handing her a steaming mug of what she presumed was tea. “But we should probably go and scout out a shop before it gets too dark.”</p><p>Hermione nodded and peered over her mug, about to speak when Neville interjected. “One sugar and a splash of milk right?” he said slightly self consciously, putting his hands in his front pockets and rocking in place. </p><p>“You remembered how I take my tea?”</p><p>“I sat across from you at least once almost every day for six years, Hermione.”</p><p>“No, I know that,” she said, putting the cup down before it burnt her fingers. “I just thought you might have forgotten.”</p><p>“No,” Neville said softly, putting his own cup down. “I haven’t forgotten.”</p><p>Hermione resumed her messing around with pictures in cheap frames while Neville walked around the room to see what she had done so far.  </p><p>“All okay?” he asked. “Will this place do?” If Hermione hadn’t known him better, she would have said he seemed anxious about her answer<em>. </em></p><p>“It’s great,” Hermione enthused. As isolated locations went, it was a damn sight better than a musty tent. </p><p>Neville grinned before fetching a stack of boxes from the corridor and unpacking his books along with hers. </p><p>“I suppose this is us for the foreseeable then?” he said lightly as he grabbed another arm full. Hermione was impressed by the sheer amount he seemed to have selected for the trip. Though she supposed given the broad parameters they had, it wasn’t as if he would have had the means to slim the selection down.</p><p>Hermione looked out of the window at the charming sea view. She imagined in the days to come they would need such a beautiful sight to juxtapose all of the darkness they had to work with. She pointed to the crack of the ocean that was visible between houses in the distance and shrugged. </p><p>“I can think of worse places to be.”</p><p>“Me too,” he readily agreed. </p><p>For a while, they worked in silence, or as near as it could be given the amount of moving going on. Hermione laid out information on the table and began sorting case files into an order. Neville worked on the back wall extracting all of the plant information they had and putting up only the kind of photos they would routinely be able to stomach on the walls. </p><p>Hermione drank her frustratingly perfect tea and rested against the dresser by the far wall as Neville worked.</p><p>“Black two sugars,” she said suddenly, and Neville’s eyebrows rose onto his forehead. “Is that still how you take yours?”</p><p>“It is… I… I never realised you were paying attention.”</p><p>“You’re not the only one that can be considerate of others Neville,” Hermione replied with a smile. “I’ve heard I can be <em> quite nice </em> to people I like. Every once in a while.”</p><p>Neville laughed. The sound was so familiar it was like putting on a well-worn jumper. Safe. It was safe. “I don’t doubt that for a moment.”</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY FIVE </em>
</p><p>Waking up on her third morning in the cottage by the sea, Hermione stayed in bed resting as the light slowly filtered in through the thin curtains and drank in the silence that could only be found miles away from cites.</p><p>She repositioned herself under her covers, folding the edges under her feet and restacking the pillows until she was comfortable. Hermione reflected that living with Neville was working out better than she had anticipated. She hadn't been anxious about Neville in particular, but her experience of living with others had taught Hermione that such things were never easy, especially when you considered the additional stressor that they had hanging over their heads. She had undertaken the Horcrux hunt with her two very best friends, and even now she was not sure how they had all made it through with their relationships largely intact. </p><p>After school, Hermione had found that she preferred living on her own, and though she’d had a few boyfriends that had looked like they might go the distance - for a time at least - she had never come close to living with someone full time. The odd sleepover here and there that you had time to plan for and clean up after was a very different consideration than someone being there <em> all </em>the time, in your space and doing things you didn’t like in it. </p><p>So, Hermione had been nervous, but as yet none of her usual anxieties had made themselves known. </p><p>Hermione reached for her wand so she could open the curtains without leaving the comfort of her narrow bed. It was the height of laziness, but she didn’t care. She knew if her toes so much as touched the rug on the floor her half sleepy state would be gone in an instant and then she would have to get up.</p><p>She stared out at the brightening sky and wondered whether Neville was awake. He was an early riser, like her, and he liked to spend his mornings quiet as he got ready for the day.</p><p>Their transition to working together had been similarly smooth. Neville’s memory was impressive, and he had an exceptionally good recall when it came to dates and numbers which had already proved to be invaluable. </p><p>After their comprehensive timeline was fully drafted, Neville began making a detailed list of the plants that had been used in connection with each crime. He quickly found that many that had been listed by the Ministry were incorrect - typically they had assigned the primary genotype as many a herbology novice would have. Neville, having more specialist knowledge and experience, had managed to identify where it was actually a less common variant. </p><p>Through this work, Neville had established that some of the plants in question were both expensive and not widely available. As far as he was concerned, it ruled out the everyday consumer or someone that had got lucky while growing their own. </p><p>They had stayed up last night, working together to compose a list of European dealers that would have stocked most of the list and then sent their findings to the Ministry. Hermione supposed they should have mapped the dealers internationally, but, in the interest of time, they had decided that it was better to start local and then fan out. As it was, it was going to take the Aurors weeks to check out all of the names they had already compiled. </p><p>Hermione pulled the duvet up around her shoulders and reset her alarm to allow for another thirty minutes of snooze. They had been up late, and that was far from typical for her. But, they had wanted to get what they were working on complete, and she needed the rest if she was going to spend another day staring at small prints and stacks of paper. </p><p>As soon as she shut her eyes, Hermione heard movement out in the corridor, which meant Neville was up. Hermione debated getting out of bed to open the door to greet him properly, but she suddenly felt weirdly shy about her threadbare pyjamas and the haystack of hair barely contained in a hairband, so instead, she stayed in bed. </p><p>She was sure she heard his feet stop as they got to her door, but given the early hour and the tiredness behind her eyes, it was entirely possible she had imagined it. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY SIX </em>
</p><p>Hermione had been distracted and fidgety all day. It was like there was an itch under her skin that she couldn’t quite get to. There was an annoyance that prodded at the edge of her vision, but whatever she did, she just couldn’t clear it. </p><p>She’d always gotten like this, whenever she was on the precipice of an understanding. It was as if her subconscious had already figured everything out and was needling at her to catch up. The temptation was to keep pushing, to put an end to the torment, but once Hermione had tried to read the same page for the third time without success, she knew it was time for a break. </p><p>Making her excuses to Neville, who was pouring through a centuries-old book on the variegation of leaves, she went into the kitchen. She made herself a drink before going out into the garden to sit on the weathered decking that ran across the back of the house. There was garden furniture, warped and faded but passable, but after hours of sitting on a dining chair, none of it looked appealing. Instead, Hermione moved to the edge of the decking and sat her cup down, before swiftly following and letting her legs dangle over the edge.</p><p>She had barely been out there long enough for her drink to cool before she heard the back door open. Hermione didn’t turn, but soon enough she saw Neville’s socked feet appear next to her before he too folded himself down to sit on the deck. Hermione was sure she could feel his eyes on her cheek now and again, but he never spoke. He just drank his tea next to her and watched the world go by. </p><p>“It’s peaceful here,” she said eventually. “I like it.”</p><p>Neville grinned. “Me too, it reminds me of a place I rent in the summer sometimes, when school is done. The town it’s in isn’t as nice, but I like to get away after the bustle of the school year.”</p><p>“You have to go back to reality sometime though, right?” </p><p>Neville chuckled warmly. “I suppose, but a man can dream about a quiet life.”</p><p>“Weren’t you living with Hannah Abbott?” Hermione asked and then cringed. “Sorry that was really intrusive of me, I should have kept my mouth shut.”</p><p>Neville shrugged. “I think we’re past worrying about overstepping, aren’t we? Considering how much we have been through together.”</p><p>“I suppose we are,” Hermione replied quietly, still fighting against her blush that would not fade no matter how hard she tried to turn her cheek against the growing wind. </p><p>Neville sighed and plucked at a single weed that had somehow grown through the rough planks of wood between them. “Hannah and I… We broke up at the beginning of the year, no big thing. There was no argument or hurt feelings, just... I suppose we had both outgrown it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Hermione offered automatically while her brain puzzled over his lack of emotion. She recognised his tone; she had used it often enough with her friends when explaining why they wouldn’t be seeing someone she had been again; it spoke of resignation and indifference. “Had you been together long?”</p><p>Neville put his cup down on the deck and linked his fingers. “A year, or thereabouts.”</p><p>“That’s a long time.”</p><p>“I suppose.”</p><p>They lapped into silence, and Hermione idly started to wonder what they should have for lunch. She should have been focused on getting back into their little room with all their files and work to do, but now that she had broken free, out into the fresh air, it was hard to will herself back into confinement.</p><p>“What about you?” he asked hesitantly, seemingly no keener to get back to it than she was.</p><p>“You know me, Neville, perpetually single,” Hermione said with a laugh that sounded the worst kind of forced. That was the thing about being a single person in a group full of couples; Hermione felt like she had to laugh at her circumstances all the time to try and stave off their pity. It was exhausting, and ironically, rather pitiful. </p><p>Neville shifted, pulling his legs up and folding them in front of him. “That’s not how I would have described you.”</p><p>“No?” Hermione asked, “and how would you have described me?”</p><p>“Not touching that,” he replied with a dry laugh that quickly fell away. “Every time I’ve seen you in the last few years there has been… someone, you’ve always been dating.”</p><p>Hermine’s mind flicked through the people she had dated since school had finished. It was hardly a cast of thousands. It seemed so strange to her that Neville apparently had the impression she was<em> never </em> without a boyfriend, as far as she was concerned the opposite was the case.</p><p>“It … there has never been... there hasn’t ever been anyone important,” she admitted staring out at the sea line in the distance. “Is that a bit pathetic?”</p><p>“No,” Neville replied quickly. “I can think of <em> many </em> things far more pathetic than that.”</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY EIGHT </em>
</p><p>By the end of the first week, tucked away with just each other for company, Hermione felt they had reached the stage where they could recite the Auror reports from memory. Hermione had been rather sad to discover that the standard of reporting was just as she feared and in some rare and baffling cases, worse.</p><p>They received word from the Ministry upwards of three times a day, keeping them updated with progress, asking for theirs and filling in the blanks where they found appropriate information.</p><p>While they kept chipping away at the paperwork every day, it was becoming apparent that Hermione and Neville had come to something of a standstill. They had looked at the evidence both as a whole and in a series of different isolations. They had gone in with no assumptions, and they had tried looking at it through the lens of a few differently perceived notions, and nothing had worked. <em> Nothing </em>was forming a pattern. </p><p>There were moments when Hermione wondered if the whole thing was even real. Whether there might have been some mistake and there wasn’t any correlation in the crimes after all. But she shut those thoughts down. All she needed to convince herself was to look at the pictures again. She knew in her bones that the same person was responsible. Now they just needed to find a way to prove it. To prove it and to stop them.</p><p>After a pained morning, where Hermione’s hair had gotten frizzier and frizzier as she had semi-consciously plaited and unplaited strand after strand, they had agreed on a couple of hours away from their stack of papers. There was the hope that they could perhaps reset their minds and come back with some renewed vigour and fresh perspectives.</p><p>In the absence of any real leisure activity being available at the house, Hermione had decided to take a bath and Neville, predictably, had gone outside to mess around in the garden.</p><p>After an hour of soaking away her mental fog, Hermione came downstairs to get a drink. Seemingly Neville had the same idea as soon after she entered the back door opened and Hermione forgot about the empty kettle that was now hanging limply from her fingers. </p><p>No doubt due to the unseasonably warm day, Neville had decided to forgo the knitwear he often favoured and had instead gone out in just a simple light grey t-shirt. Hermione couldn’t decide if she was more thrown by how <em> fitted </em> his top was over his chest or by seeing his upper arms for what seemed like the first time. Her brain wheezed that she <em> must </em>have seen them before, but if she had, they had never looked like this, all misted with sweat and smudged with soil. The effect was rather… it was something. </p><p>“Hi,” Neville greeted brightly, and then he mopped his brow with a kitchen roll Hermione had placed by the door, having grown accustomed to his habits. “You about to make tea?”</p><p>Hermione looked at him blankly before he gestured towards the kettle she had completely forgotten she was still holding.</p><p>“Yes,” she replied, clearing her throat. “Would you… would you like a cup?”</p><p>Neville nodded and excused himself to get washed up. Alone again, Hermione rested her head against the cupboard in front of her as the kettle boiled.</p><p>That was... odd.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TEN </em>
</p><p>Hermione was beginning to think that the little house by the sea was getting smaller; it certainly felt like a tighter fit than it had the previous week. She didn’t seem to be able to walk past Neville in the hall or work around the same table as him without them continually brushing up against each other.</p><p>Hermione couldn’t remember if it had always been like that or whether this was a hyper-awareness brought on by their circumstances and their increasing isolation. Either way, it was becoming difficult to ignore.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TWELVE </em>
</p><p>Hermione sat on the stoop at the back of the house and watched two birds fighting over the sandwich she had ripped apart and thrown onto the overgrown grass. She hadn’t been able to face lunch. The larger of the two blackbirds made its move and quickly flew away with the lion’s share of the spoils, and Hermione wrapped her arms around herself.</p><p>She started when the back door opened and turned her head even though she already knew who it was. Neville gave her a small smile and sat down next to her with a lot more grace than he would have managed when they were younger. </p><p>For reasons she couldn’t quite articulate, Hermione felt angry at Neville for being different now. When they were still at school, and she was having a tough time, she wouldn’t have thought <em> anything </em> about asking him for a hug. She felt like such a small request would seem… weirdly bigger now, and she couldn’t bring herself to make it. </p><p>“It’s going to be okay, Hermione,” he said softly. “We’ll figure it out.”</p><p>Despite the anxiety racing around her mind, Hermione managed to smile weakly. “How did you know I was worried about that?”</p><p>He shrugged. “You haven’t changed all that much, you know? You still bite on your nails and fiddle with the cuffs of your jumpers when you’re stressed.”</p><p>Without thinking, Hermione let go of the cuffs of her cardigan that had been balled up inside her palms and Neville laughed. </p><p>“And you still don’t like it when people read you too well.”</p><p>Hermione glared at him. </p><p>“Sorry,” he said, holding his hands up and Hermione dropped the hostility from her expression.</p><p>“It’s fine,” she said, scooting to sit closer to him. “I’m just not used to living with someone that knows me as well as you do, or anyone, really. I suppose I should be embarrassed that I’ve changed <em> so little </em> in all this time and here’s you, almost a whole new person.”</p><p>Neville studied her face intently before staring off towards the end of the garden. “I don’t know about that, Hermione. I still feel the same as I did then.”</p><p>“Maybe it’s just being around each other, making us regress?”</p><p>“I’ll admit that has probably intensified it.”</p><p>“Well, let’s hope we get this sorted quickly. Otherwise, we will have completely reverted to our school day selves by the time we are done.”</p><p>Neville smiled wryly. “I think it might be a bit late for us to worry about that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Thank you, lovelies, for embracing another one of my stories. After finishing up the rewrite for Flourishing Devotion, I had Nevmione on my mind, and this fic is the result. I wanted to tackle them as older characters than I have written them before. Stay Safe!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> DAY THIRTEEN </em>
</p><p>Hermione pulled the styrofoam cup to her lips and took a small sip through the hole she had inexpertly pushed through the cheap plastic lid. The liquid warmed her throat as effectively as the cup had the tips of her fingers, and she tucked herself closer to Neville as they carried on walking along the jagged coastline.</p><p>Over breakfast that morning Neville had declared he thought it was best if they got out for a couple of hours and Hermione had hastened to agree with him. The air in the little house was beginning to feel stale, so much so that she was starting to have difficulty sleeping. Getting out had seemed like a great idea, the weather by the sea, however, was less than ideal.</p><p>Despite the tranquil look of the bright skies and alluring blanket of sea, there was a perpetual wind that made getting anywhere quickly a bit of a fight. Hermione was going to have sand in her hair for months, and not a single exciting story as to how it got there. </p><p>"I know what you're doing, you know," Neville quipped when Hermione hung back a single step as they turned the corner. </p><p>She smiled behind her cup, the white foam failing to hide the quirk of her lips. Neville had been a <em> very effective </em> windbreak, and when she positioned herself just so, she was hardly assaulted by the elements at all.</p><p>"Sorry," she called out in a sing-song voice, and Neville huffed, but there was no real admonishment in it. </p><p>"You okay?" he asked as the wind died down and he no longer had to fight against the noise to be heard.</p><p>"Yeah," Hermione replied, even as she shook her head. "No… not really. It's just… all those people."</p><p>Sometimes it was easy to forget why they were there. It was the only way to get anything done. Hermione had tried to do the same thing while they were on the run. The longer you dwelled on it, the bigger picture of the human cost, the harder it was to focus on the task at hand.</p><p>Neville glanced at her, and his expression was so full of compassion and understanding it hurt. It made Hermione feel seen, <em> really seen</em>, as if he was looking so hard at her that fissures opened up into her skin, deep enough for the sand-filled air to infiltrate and hollow her out.</p><p>"We'll get them Hermione, whoever it is, we'll get them."</p><p>Hermione tucked herself back close to Neville, and they resumed their walk. No matter how many sips of her drink she tried, the rawness never left her throat. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY FOURTEEN </em>
</p><p>Finally, their seemingly endless research paid off, and they made a <em> small </em>breakthrough. It had taken a leap of imagination and a bit of assumptive guesswork, but Hermione had been able to see a pattern. It was tenuous, so tenuous that at the start she had begun to wonder if she was no better than Trewlany, seeing pictures in the tea-leaves but then it was there, tangible and enough to build a belief around.</p><p>All of the victims had ties to the Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>As soon as Neville had listened to her theory, he had known what she was thinking. He went through the list of suppliers they had previously given to the Ministry and worked to adapt it. It took four hours without so much as a loo break, but he was able to narrow down the extensive list to those that were the <em> most likely </em> to trade with former Death Eaters or those affiliated with them. The parameters were vaguer than either of them would like, but it gave them <em> something</em>. </p><p>Just seeing the name - <em> Death Eater </em> - written down again after all these years had been enough to make Hermione's blood run cold. Suddenly their quiet little house in the sleepy seaside town she had come to love felt exposed and unsafe. In her imagination the valley they were encased in was suddenly popped out from the earth - the whitewashed cottage sat on top of a mountain, the clouds above forming arrows to their location. </p><p>That night they had more than their customary glass of wine at dinner; in fact, it wasn't even dark before they had opened their second bottle. It wasn't a celebration, it wasn't commiseration either, but it was something like it.</p><p>Once the sun eventually set, Hermione and Neville found themselves sitting out on the lawn that was more weeds than grass, staring up at the stars. Hermione had found a moth-eaten blanket while she had been tidying a day or so before and Neville had transfigured their glasses to have wide bottoms that wouldn't fall over when propped up on the uneven ground.</p><p>It was nice, peaceful and open. Hermione needed a break from looking at all the crime reports and photos. As much as you tried to detach yourself, after reading everything you could about these people, it was impossible not to <em> feel </em> what had happened to them all the more. Every time Hermione looked at a photo, she imagined their families, the people they were <em> never </em> coming home to. It was almost too much to bear and further proof, if anywhere needed, that she wasn't cut out for this type of career.</p><p>"Is this where you saw your life going?" </p><p>As soon as the words left her mouth, Hermione knew she was drunker than she had thought. She was an emotional drunk at the best of times, especially when she'd had a lot, and although she was rarely maudlin if there was ever a time to be so this had to be it.</p><p>"I'd hoped," Neville replied almost under his breath, not quite meeting her eye and Hermione squinted in confusion.</p><p>"Tucked away in hiding, hunting a serial killer?" she asked incredulously.</p><p>Neville flushed, and he swirled the remains of his wine around his glass. "Being around you," he said at last while studying his lap, and Hermione froze. She didn't know what to say, her mind was too clouded from the alcohol to think clearly, and Neville's proximity wasn't doing much to help that. She had never quite realised how much <em> bigger </em> he was than her, taller and broader. At school he had always just been <em> Neville </em> , he didn't loom or hover or make her… make her <em> feel things </em>. </p><p>After a time, Neville coughed a little and then began talking about a new lesson he was hoping to add to the Herbology curriculum. Hermione listened attentively, not sure whether to be relieved or saddened that the subject had dropped, but she didn't try to revive it. </p><p>Neville had always been braver than her. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY FIFTEEN </em>
</p><p>Things were a bumbling following Neville's... Hermione wasn't sure what to call it. <em> Confession </em> seemed like such a <em> big </em> word and yet admittance wasn't enough. In her confusion over how to behave, she had gone into the kitchen the next day and overcompensated like her life depended on it. She had grinned like never before and asked what they were going to do that day like some sort of medicated children's entertainer.</p><p>Neville had winced, and Hermione had apologised before hastily quitting the room. As soon as she made it into the relative safety of the hallway, she'd heard Neville mutter a curse under his breath. Hermione had felt awful. Not awful enough to go back in and brave the conversation they <em> needed </em> to have. But awful all the same.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY SEVENTEEN </em>
</p><p>Hermione wrapped her coat more tightly around herself and marched on up the hill with Neville at her side. It had been three days since they had gotten drunk together and relations in their too-small-for-this-kind-of-thing house had largely gone back to normal. Apart from a few lingering glances and tense silences, it was as if it had never happened. Or at least, that was what she kept telling herself.</p><p>When Hermione permitted herself to think about it, she had come away believing that she was mainly <em> intrigued</em>, intrigued and hugely flattered. Outside of her very closest friends, no one had ever admitted to caring for her with such open honesty. Neville may not have <em> declared </em> himself verbosely, but he had never made a single noise to indicate he wanted to take his words back, even if she hadn't given a very enthusiastic response. </p><p>Hermione was far from an untouched hot house plant, but at the same time, she was rather inexperienced when it came to the complexities of romantic attraction. She had never fared that well in ascertaining when people were <em> interested </em> in her, and as such most of those she had ended up dating had been rather… <em> loud </em>in their declaration of feelings. Sadly, they had been just as forthcoming when things ended. </p><p>People, Hermione thought, fell in love with the <em> idea </em>of her rather easily, enough people seemed to think they knew who she was. It was the reality of her as a person that they seemed to struggle with, which hadn't exactly been good for her ego over the years. The truth was that nobody lived up to the headlines every day. Yes, Hermione was unusually bright, and yes she had been a vital cog in an organisation that took down a tyrant. But, she hadn't done it to be brilliant or known or revered. She'd done it because she'd had to and because it affected her and those she loved directly. She'd done it to have a quiet life. </p><p>The man next to her, for a man he was now, was rather different. Neville knew every bad thing about her to the point that Hermione wondered how he could even see <em> anything </em> good. There were no awful surprises to come for Neville; he had seen it all before, many, many times. </p><p>He knew she looked horrendous when she cried, and he knew she defended Harry even when he was vastly in the wrong. He knew she had a temper, and he knew she wasn't the social creature many people wanted her to be. </p><p>Hermione wanted to ask Neville if his <em> wishes </em>- if you could call them that - had been just a pipe dream of an adolescent, or whether he still held an affection for her now. She was too afraid of the answer.</p><p>Hermione pushed her hands inside her pockets and mentally ran through her shopping list. She had folded up the piece of parchment and stuffed it into her bag before she left the house. She was afraid to get it out now in case it blew away in the wind. </p><p>The last item she had added to the list was <em> wine</em>, which seemed like something of a contentious issue, as far as groceries go, given how the previous time they indulged had ended. Hermione had put a question mark next to it even though she knew that it was highly unlikely anyone else would ever see the parchment. She briefly wondered what people that didn't overthink did with their quiet time. Hermione imagined it must have been peaceful to go about the world without a constant whirring track of thoughts playing off in the back of your mind.</p><p>They came to a mangled section in the path, a few hundred metres where nature had taken back control. Seemingly instinctively, Neville extended his hand so he could help her over the rocks. Hermione thought about the scoff she would have usually made, but it died in her throat. She placed her hand in Neville's and held on tightly until they were back on safer ground.</p><p>After a moment's indecision, Hermione didn't pull her hand away when they continued. She resolved she would keep her hand there as long as he did. She felt Neville's eyes land on her a few times, but she kept her gaze squarely ahead.</p><p>After ten full minutes when the only sound was the dull clunk of their boots hitting the gravel, Neville's thumb began brushing over the back of her hand in wide sweeping strokes. </p><p>Hermione mentally removed the question marks. Those on parchment and those she hadn't dared to write down.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TWENTY </em>
</p><p>Hermione was sat cross-legged on the floor with her back propped up against her usual chair and a plate on her lap. She had arranged a few photos around her as she worked her way through a hastily thrown together sandwich and then glanced back at all the questions they still had to answer. </p><p>"Do you think the plants are important?" she asked as she eyed the vines she could see creeping in on the edge of one photo.</p><p>"Hmmm?" Neville replied, and Hermione shuffled around to face him. Neville was sitting up at the table, eating his own sandwich and staring at a book in front of him.</p><p>"Do you think that it <em> means something </em> that its plants?" </p><p>Neville swallowed the food he had in his mouth and placed his sandwich back on his plate. "No, not really," he said eventually as he sat back in the chair. "I'm no Auror Hermione, but my guess is if it were about the plants, really about them, they would have been more prominent, they would have been more specific, it would have been less of an… afterthought."</p><p>"Then, why?"</p><p>Neville shrugged. "A marker? Somewhere between pointing at the crime and laughing at law enforcement?"</p><p>Hermione nodded and went back to her plate, looking over the photos yet again. If they were an afterthought maybe they weren't as considered as the rest of this crime, perhaps that was their way in, to discover more. </p><p>If anyone would be able to shed light on it, it was the man sitting at the table behind her. The thought was comforting.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TWENTY TWO </em>
</p><p>"Do you want to talk about it?"</p><p>Hermione blinked back the tears that had been threatening for a while, shook her head and tried to smile. She must have been lost in her memories if she hadn't even heard Neville come down the stairs.</p><p>She'd woken up panting for every breath, her heart thumping and her limbs aching to run, flee. It was the usual nightmare, Hermione had suffered with them since the war, but she hadn't had one that<em> intense </em> for a while. She had ventured to the kitchen after pushing the damp twisted bed covers off her body, and now that she had sat down with a glass of water, she was struggling to get back up again. </p><p>Neville walked past her and flicked on the kettle, wiping a hand over his eyes and fresh stubble. Seconds later, a toasty warm weight dropped over her shoulders, and Hermione realised that he had placed one of his well-loved cardigans over her, covering her insubstantial tank top. Trying not to feel too self-conscious, Hermione pushed her arms into the long sleeves and pulled her hair out from the back of the neck. It was so soft and comforting, and it smelt like him. </p><p>As he busied himself with cups and spoons, Hermione blinked herself out of her head and realised Neville was also wearing a jumper, which meant he had brought a spare one down. She had a moment to worry about how much he must have heard. It had been a long time, but she had been told that she had screamed out in her sleep before.</p><p>"Sorry," she managed, her voice sounding croakier than she would like. "Did I wake you?"</p><p>Neville shook his head. "No, I just couldn't sleep, and I saw the light was on. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"</p><p>Hermione rubbed her fingers over her eyes, harder than she probably should have and then she shifted. "Can we... can we talk about it another time?"</p><p>Usually, when people asked her, Hermione pretended she was fine, but she didn't feel like she could do that now, Neville knew her too well to believe her. She surprised herself by wanting to share, something at least, just not tonight, not while she still felt so small and vulnerable.</p><p>"Of course, do you... do you want me to stay?"</p><p>Hermione was nodding before she could open her mouth to respond. "Yes."</p><p>After talking about everything<em> except </em>for the reason they were out of bed, they finished their drinks and crashed out on the sofa without discussing it, it just happened. Hermione's head rested on Neville's shoulder, and his arm draped over her, holding her against his chest. </p><p>It was the sort of position that left you feeling as if none of your bones was in the right place and yet, Hermione hadn't slept so well in months, and the nightmare didn't return.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: Hello lovely people, one more chapter of this little story of two people trapped in a small house with mounting concerns about the world outside. Where do I get my ideas from? :) Stay safe everyone! </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> DAY TWENTY FOUR </em>
</p><p>Neville had been staring at the same picture for three hours, and for once, that wasn’t even remotely hyperbolic, Hermione had been keeping an eye on the time. It had started before she had popped to the shops, and now she was back, the food had been put away, dinner was cooking, and he was still at it.</p><p>Neville was very peaceful when he was in ‘study mode’. He sat up straight, and his desk was always neatly ordered. Unlike Hermione, he tended to absorb information by thinking it through and asking himself questions. In contrast, she frantically wrote everything out in more and more concise forms until she knew the knowledge was folded away in her mind. Usually, Hermione enjoyed watching Neville work, but today she found it a little unsettling. </p><p>Something had occurred to him the day before, something he hadn’t been able to fully articulate. He had requested a blown-up image from the Ministry, and after it had arrived, he had been staring at it for so long Hermione was beginning to get worried. She’d left him to it for a while - after all, she understood what it was like to try and think through a process -but this was different.</p><p>“Neville?” she asked cautiously, moving into his line of sight and waving. “Everything okay?"</p><p>Neville blinked as if coming back from a faraway place and then he smiled at her, sheepishly. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Hermione grinned at his boyish expression.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“It’s this plant,” he said, pointing to the picture that had been holding his rapt attention. “I thought it was a Dittany spore at first glance, that’s what I put it down in my notes as, but there is something not right about it.”</p><p>Hermione stared at the image with interest but not understanding. Herbology had never been her strong suit.</p><p>“The colouring is wrong,” he explained. “The stems are a shade lighter than you would expect and with the opening along the bud it kinda looks more like a-”</p><p>“Venus flytrap,” Hermione interjected, catching up. “But what does that mean?”</p><p>Neville rubbed a hand over his face and then sat back in his chair. “My best guess would be it’s some kind of hybrid and nothing I can find a name for which, if you exclude government trials, means that this is a non-sanctioned plant.”</p><p>Hermione folded herself down into the seat next to him and glanced at the arrows Neville had added. “So, either our killer is an illegal botanist in their spare time, or the person they are buying from is?”</p><p>“They would have to be,” Neville agreed. “And that list we have of rare plants has just got more expensive. This isn’t a cheap hobby.”</p><p>Hermione clicked her tongue while her mind whirred. “Neville, do you have that supplier list to hand, the one you narrowed down?”</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Neville replied, refilling through papers until he found it.</p><p>Hermione’s hand drifted down the list. It was still a good foot and a half of parchment. “How many of them would be capable of this?”</p><p>Neville glanced down the page and then looked up at her eyes wide. “Only six, <em> maybe seven </em> . But… Hermione, this isn’t anything concrete, and I know we wanted to get a <em> real answer </em>-”</p><p>“Neville,” Hermione interjected. “It’s a solid lead; the Aurors on the ground could really use this. You should let Robards know. After all, we can’t take away <em> all </em> of their glory; they are the professionals.”</p><p>Neville smiled self-consciously and stood from the table. Hermione heard the clink of porcelain as he picked up some floo powder. </p><p>While Neville called through the fireplace, Hermione stared at the wall with the distinct feeling of uselessness. For the first time in her life, she had been presented with a problem and then watched as someone else made the strides forward as she did nothing to help. Despite her best intentions, in this case, she was little more than dead weight. </p><p>An itch in the back of her mind told her she should be irritated, maybe even upset. Weirdly she felt relieved, relieved and proud. </p><p>Hermione watched Neville for the rest of the night as he smiled more broadly and laughed a little harder. He had the glow about him of someone who knew they had contributed to something bigger, something vital. She had overheard Head Auror Robards telling Neville that he had made the ‘most significant breakthrough in the case so far’ and yet Neville hadn’t mentioned the praise to her. </p><p>They toasted the success over a cheap Chinese takeaway, and Hermione felt… content.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TWENTY SIX </em>
</p><p>Hermione stuck her hands back into the earth and tried her best not to wince when the tips of her fingers connected with something that felt wet and possibly living.</p><p>“Do the owners of this place know you’re digging up their garden?”</p><p>Neville raised an eyebrow as he smirked at her. “Yes, I asked permission. I’m hardly the rule-breaker you are Hermione.”</p><p>“<em>Were</em>,” Hermione corrected as she sat back and wiped her wrist over her brow. “I <em> was </em> a rule-breaker, Neville, in a time that seems long ago now. I haven’t so much as input a wrong number on my tax return since I left Hogwarts.”</p><p>Hermione pulled up her hands, trying to ignore the dirt that was now pressed firmly under her fingernails and picked up the plant Neville was offering.</p><p>“Why am I doing the planting again?”</p><p>Neville shuffled forward so he could better observe what she was doing. “Because you offered to help this morning and your hands are more delicate than mine. This plant needs a softer touch.”</p><p>Hermione scoffed. “I don’t think anyone’s accused me of having a <em> soft touch </em> before.”</p><p>Neville laughed and then bumped her shoulder. “You do yourself a disservice. Two more then we can go for lunch.”</p><p>“Fine,” Hermione agreed and then she deposited the small plant with soft purple petals into the designated hole.</p><p>“Why did you even offer to help,” Neville asked as Hermione lined up the stems the way Neville had instructed. “You <em> hate </em>Herbology.”</p><p>Hermione pursed her lips as she waited for the plant to unfurl before she replaced the soil around the edges. “I don’t <em> hate it</em>,” she insisted. Though at this moment it wasn’t her favourite thing. “I just don’t like getting messy. It’s a hangover from childhood, I think. When I was at Muggle primary, we did arts and crafts on Friday afternoons. I liked things to be neat. One of the boys in class realised I got upset when things spilt on my desk, and he spent the rest of that year pouring paint on me whenever he got the chance.”</p><p>“He was probably just trying to get your attention.”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “The pulling on pigtails excuse, really? I very much doubt it. Little Jimmy St James was a menace. He once said I looked like a squirrel.”</p><p>“Maybe he liked squirrels?”</p><p>Hermione scoffed and wiped her fingers on the front of the apron Neville had handed her. It was so big the front portion practically wrapped around her front and back looking like a smock dress. The bottom of it fell halfway between her knees and her ankles, making her look ridiculous. Neville had said she looked ‘predictably adorable’ and Hermione had stored that a way to think on later.</p><p>When she had gotten up that day, Hermione had thought it would be a good idea to offer to help out in the garden. Neville was still going out their often, in order to clear his head and Hermione thought the same might help her. She told herself that because she wasn’t the one making progress on the case, it would make her feel better to assist elsewhere. Proximity to Neville had nothing to do with it. </p><p>“I just wanted to be helpful,” she said after a pause and Neville nodded once before passing her the next flower. It made a kind of hissing sound when it was deposited in her grasp, and Hermione glared at Neville with her best ‘i told you so expression’. Neville, to his credit, ignored it. </p><p>“Well, thank you, it’s nice, having some company for this.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Hermione choked out with bad grace, and Neville grinned at her. </p><p>“You<em> almost </em>sounded like you meant that,” he said and then bopped her on the nose. Hermione looked down as best she could until she could make out a patch of soil on the end of her nose. </p><p>“Insufferable,” she muttered and would have gotten up, but Neville was quicker. He was on his feet with his arms on her shoulders and picking her up as if she weighed no more than one of his flowers. Hermione’s legs felt rather jellied as she stood there, and she noticed he made no immediate move to release her. So they stood in the quiet, as the rising sun began to flood the garden with light. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TWENTY SEVEN </em>
</p><p>Hermione stared at the note from Head Auror Robards, trying in vain to process it. </p><p>
  <em> It was over. </em>
</p><p>The Aurors had acted quickly and divided Neville’s list amongst every team at their immediate disposal. When the team arrived to interview the second highlighted shop, they had known the proprietor was hiding something. Apparently, in the end, it had been as easy as that. The shopkeeper had refused to answer any questions, but as it turned out, an interview was unnecessary. A quick search of the premises uncovered a ledger that had a list of his dodgy deals with even dodgier clients. Not only did he note down prices and dates, but he also had names and addresses. It appeared he had no conception of what ‘off the books’ really meant.</p><p>Within the ledger, there were many repeat customers (enough to keep the Ministry busy for a few months post the close of this case) but the only one that stood out. Randall Torrance was a semi-distant relation to the Lestrange brothers and had faced several small fines after the war for crimes against protected magical species. He had gone straight to the top of the integration list. Supposedly, once he had been tracked down by chance when Auror’s had called on his mother's property, Randall had no more interest in being helpful than the shopkeeper and had tried to resist arrest, unsuccessfully. </p><p>According to the ramblings he had been spouting since he was placed in custody, it was tough to decide whether Torrance hated the Death Eaters or the Order more. Seemingly, he didn’t care who he hurt; he just wanted to be noticed. He had been from a cadet branch of the Lestrange family tree, one not called upon by Voldemort to form his inner circle. It appeared the Torrance family had borne a grudge and Randall had been the one to act on it.</p><p>It was all rather sad really.</p><p>Hermione folded the parchment and glanced around the room. Robards would want <em> all </em> of their paperwork for the case files which would mean getting it into some kind of legible order but apart from that there was nothing else to do. It was a relief, a big one, Hermione had hated the feeling of pressure while working on the case, but now it was over she felt numb. It was almost anticlimactic somehow. She’d never had any desire for battle and death, but Hermione had grown accustomed to it being how these things ended.</p><p>She remembered Harry telling her how much of his job came down to lucky breaks and being in the right place at the right time. Hermione hadn’t believed him; she thought it was just his trademark modesty talking, but now? Maybe he was more right than she had believed. </p><p>By the time Neville entered their now-defunct base of operations, Hermione was sat down on the floor, propped up against the wall and staring at her shoes. He smiled at her in a bemused way, and she looked up at him for just a second longer than was polite before handing him the note. </p><p>“You did it, Neville!” she exclaimed as he turned over the page. For all of her practising in the last half an hour, she still didn’t sound very convincing.</p><p>Neville’s cheeks flushed and his lips quirked, but the smile never quite reached his eyes. “I suppose I did.”</p><p>“We can go home,” Hermione offered, hopeful that it would make him more expressive. If anything the reminder seemed to make Neville more despondent.</p><p>“Great,” he replied weakly and then placed the letter on the table before excusing himself to go into the garden, leaving Hermione sitting on the floor and wondering what to do next. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY TWENTY EIGHT </em>
</p><p>The day was wet. Rain ploughed down so fast it sounded as if the roof of the small house would collapse, and water rushed down the windows in sheets rather than competing drips. It was as if the atmosphere knew how much Hermione didn’t want to be outside. </p><p>They’d heard the news late last night, Randall Torrence had been charged with ten of the murders. The rest were still outstanding as they compiled the necessary evidence. Neville had been asked to join the Auror task force for the remainder of the case. They needed his expertise and Neville had reluctantly agreed. For once, Hermione was rather happy to be overlooked, at least in some respects. </p><p>She had been packing since that morning, making a slower than usual job of it. Though she hadn’t brought a lot of things with her, she was having trouble convincing herself she had packed them correctly and then she would need to do them again. </p><p>“What time are you heading out?”</p><p>Neville’s voice startled her and Hermione stepped back from the open suitcase on her bed to look at him. He hadn’t shaved in the last week, and his stubble was beginning to morph from a subtle dusting to nearly a full-on beard. It suited him more than anyone else Hermione knew of their age. </p><p>“An hour or so,” she replied. “I’ve got to finish sorting the books downstairs, but I’m not really in a rush.”</p><p>Neville nodded though he looked a little irritated like he had something itching at him. “I’m heading out now. I’ve got a lot to catch up on. McGonagall will go mad if I don’t get back soon.”</p><p>“<em>Headmistress </em> McGonagall,” Hermione said with an air of levity, recalling their earlier conversation and Neville smiled.</p><p>He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, and the action straightened out his body, till he was almost blocking the whole door. “I suppose I’ll see you at Luna’s thing next week?”</p><p>“Sure,” Hermione agreed warmly.</p><p>He stepped forward and paused awkwardly for a moment too long, very clearly debating what physical gesture to offer. Hermione walked around the bed, expecting a hug but instead, Neville placed his surprisingly large hands on the outside of her arms and kissed her on the cheek. They were still standing a distinctly appropriate distance apart, and yet she felt surrounded by him at the same time.</p><p>After a couple of heartbeats, it went beyond a quick peck and became something more, something warm that lingered and left questions in its wake. When Neville eventually moved away, he only did so for a fraction of a second and then his mouth was on her skin again, this time at the corner of her mouth. </p><p>Hermione didn't move; she barely even let herself breathe as she felt his mouth ever so slightly on hers. Their lips only overlapped on a touch of skin no bigger than a thumbprint, but she could feel how his mouth felt on hers. Soft and firm, hard and yielding. It was everything, and it wasn't enough.</p><p>Neville arched forward until his hands shifted and then buried themselves in her hair. The strands at the back of her neck were pulled harshly between his fingers and Hermione mewled in response. She felt dainty and safe and desirable and a little overwhelmed. She turned her head so that she could press herself against him properly, but before she could, Neville drew back, almost stepping back to the door jam, as if she had burnt him.</p><p>"Sorry… sorry… clumsy as ever," Neville said, looking at his hands and then tucking them into his pockets as if he didn't trust them to hang by his sides.</p><p>“Neville… I-” she tried, but Neville wasn’t listening.</p><p>“I better… I better go,” he said, looking down the corridor. “I… I need to get back to the school.”</p><p>“Neville,” Hermione replied insistently. She walked into the corridor to follow him, but a second after she heard the door close. </p><p>He was already gone. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: You remember when I said this would be three chapters - never listen to me, I have no idea what I’m doing :) The next one will be the final chapter (at the moment - who knows what will happen when I write it). Stay safe!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> DAY THIRTY TWO </em>
</p><p>Hermione glanced around at the crowd gathered within the Three Broomsticks and smiled. There was something infinitely wonderful about walking into a cosy, softly lit pub on a wintery evening and seeing the happy faces of people you loved.</p><p>Luna had decided she wanted to celebrate her birthday at the pub that year as a nod to nostalgia and Hermione had been relieved. Last year, all of the girls had been dragged to meet a mermaid Luna had met on her travels and Hermione had got the distinct impression that if Luna hadn’t been there, they could have all reached a rather grizzly end. The mermaid had looked at Luna as if she was some rare and exotic pearl, and Hermione <em> might </em> have been creeped out if she hadn’t been so fascinated. Thus, she was thrilled to approve a plan to be out on dry land this year. </p><p>Hermione made a point of circulating more than was usual for her. The years would never change her into a <em> social butterfly, </em> but her interaction with Neville had made her realise just how much she had missed out on, almost without even realising it. <em> How had it got to the point where she didn’t know where one of her dearest friends lived?   </em></p><p>She spent an hour talking to Dennis Creevey and then Cho Chang and eventually she had a somewhat stilted chat with Lavender Brown. Hermione hadn’t meant to approach her old dorm mate. She hadn’t seen the blonde was at the bar when she approached, though once she did realise, Hermione made an effort to ask politely enquiring questions and then beat a hasty retreat once it was clear they had run out of small talk. </p><p>Hermione was rather proud of herself for venturing out of her comfort zone and engaging with people. In fact, her efforts were so successful that by the end of the night, the only person she hadn’t spoken to was Neville, because he wasn’t there. </p><p>Hermione allowed herself three drinks before she approached the birthday girl, and even that hadn’t been enough to lubricate herself to the point of being convincingly nonchalant.</p><p>“Luna,” she greeted kindly as she approached the blonde. Luna was sitting on a table with a Muggle ‘birthday princess’ tiara perched on top of her head. “Have you seen Neville?”</p><p>Luna smiled and tilted her head, causing her hair to cascade over her shoulder. Her long waves looked almost pink as the light reflected off the garish decorations they had arranged. </p><p>“He’s not coming, Hermione,” she replied softly.</p><p>Hermione stilled. “Oh, why?”</p><p>Luna pulled herself from the centre of the table to the edge closest to Hermione, seemingly so she could peddle her legs over the side. “He said he was busy, catching up on things at the school after you had been away. We went for lunch yesterday instead.”</p><p>Hermione knew she shouldn’t have been surprised, it was already getting late, and Neville wasn’t the type for a late entrance. But, she had hoped she’d been wrong. </p><p>Hermione nearly bit through her lip to stop herself from speaking. She didn’t want to ask any more questions and make herself feel anymore exposed. Instead, she pulled herself up onto the table and sat next to Luna.</p><p>“He’s fine, by the way, in case you were wondering.”</p><p>Hermione huffed and took a larger swig of wine than her alcohol tolerance would allow her to forget. “Am I that obvious?”</p><p>“No,” Luna replied plainly and then laid her hand over Hermione’s. “But<em> he </em> is, which I suppose is part of the problem.”</p><p>“He’s braver than me,” Hermione said, though she wasn’t sure if she was offering it as an explanation or an excuse.</p><p>“Maybe, maybe not,” Luna replied cryptically, raising and dropping her hands in front of her as if mimicking scales. “But… I don’t think this is a competition.”</p><p>Hermione sighed. “I’d still like to win though.”</p><p>Luna smiled radiantly, and for the first time since Neville had abruptly left their little cottage, Hermione thought there was a chance everything might end up okay.</p><p>“To have a hope of victory, you have to be brave enough to play.”</p><p>Luna gripped Hermione’s fingers so she could pull her off the table at the same time as she jumped down herself. “We can change your future later, for now, we need cake.”</p><p>As ever, when it came to matters of the heart, Hermione was happy to be led. </p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY THIRTY FIVE </em>
</p><p>Hermione stamped the outside of the thick parchment envelope with her custom seal and then added it to the outgoing stack. She could post things until the end of the day, so there were still two hours to get things more tidied up. </p><p>She had come back from ‘hiding’ with a renewed sense of vigour and had gotten half the outstanding items off her desk in a matter of days, but nothing was bringing her the satisfaction she usually obtained from a job well done.</p><p>Hermione tucked her feet under her chest and then looked over at the bookcase on the other side of the room. She twiddled her hair, sharpened six pencils, contemplated a biscuit and then got up to find the key. </p><p>At the bottom of the locked cupboard, on a shadowy shelf, there was a box. In the innocuous box, there was a safe, and in that safe, along with the paper paraphernalia that came with adult life, was her old beaded bag. </p><p>“Be brave, Hermione.”</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY THIRTY SIX </em>
</p><p>Hermione walked around the neat stone wall towards the simple gate at the front, and once she had opened it, hearing the squeak from its rusty hinges, she continued down a haphazard paved path and knocked on the front door. </p><p>There was no answer. Part of her wanted to turn away and run, but she knew she had come too far for that. </p><p>She’d already been to visit Luna that morning to get Neville’s address. While she was mortified that she didn’t know it - <em> still </em> - the approving look Luna had given her when she made her request made Hermione feel as warm as she had when she got Outstandings on her essays.  </p><p>Stealing her resolve, Hermione arrived at the back of the house where there was a significantly sized and expertly maintained garden. And there he was, exactly where she had imagined he would be.</p><p>Neville was bent over a raised bed, resting on his knees with both his hands buried in the earth. There was a small stack of pots next to him, and he was mumbling to himself as he seemed to be calculating something. </p><p>That morning, while she was eating her breakfast, an owl had arrived with a letter from Head Auror Robards thanking her for help Hermione wasn’t sure she had provided. Apparently, Neville had said she had been ‘invaluable and just as brilliant as ever’ and that was the line that Hermione had re-read a thousand times. For a girl that had spent a lifetime acting like she didn’t care what people thought, <em> his </em>good approval was suddenly the only thing that mattered. </p><p>Hermione trod carefully, not wanting to disturb him while he seemed so at peace. Her tatty beaded bag sat on her shoulder, and she fiddled with what was left of the aged adornments to keep herself calm. </p><p>According to the final interview they had with Torrence, there had been no pattern, at least none that he had deliberately devised. The list he was working from, to pick his victims, had been something he’d found in a box at the Lestrange mansion when both brothers had been imprisoned. Torrence had wanted to cause chaos, he had wanted to make a name for himself, and he had no remorse.</p><p>Neville had a trowel in his hand, and his face was misted with sweat. He hadn’t bothered with gloves, though Hermione remembered that he hadn’t used them at the cottage. He had told her that some of the plants needed dexterity that meant bare hands was the only way to go. Hermione had flushed at the time. Thankfully they had been outside, and her face’s hinting at her body’s reaction could be covered up easier.</p><p>Just as Hermione was debating clearing her throat, he turned around, and their eyes met.</p><p>“Hi,” she greeted and with a rather mechanical wave. </p><p>“Hi Hermione,” Neville replied, and his brow pinched with confusion. </p><p>There was silence, and Hermione suddenly felt rather silly, being stood ten feet away, but she couldn’t get herself to walk forward. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Neville asked as he got to his feet and Hermione shrugged and tugged on her bag. She bit down the retort that she wanted to make. He had been avoiding her, they both knew that, and yet, at the same time, she couldn’t blame him. </p><p>“Do you want to come in for a drink?” he asked as he downed tools and Hermione nodded.</p><p>“Sure,” she replied gratefully and sank into the few more seconds she would have before she had to begin talking. Hermione had rehearsed what she needed to say, but now she was there, trailing after him and standing almost wholly in his shadow, she couldn’t get the flashcards in her mind to sit in the right order. </p><p>She dropped her bag when he stopped in the living room.</p><p>“Tea?” he asked her and Hermione heard the slight quaver in his voice and realised how anxious he looked. Neville was still standing far away from her now, even though they had moved inside and she didn’t think he had fully met her gaze since he had first seen her. </p><p>Hermione thought about saying yes. She thought about how<em> easy </em>it would be to accept a cup of tea and then fall back into a comfortable lie. It would be nothing to paper over the awkwardness and say that she just wanted to check in and see how he was doing etc etc. And when she realised that probability, something inside her snapped. </p><p>Hermione could suddenly think of nothing worse than sitting in Neville’s surprisingly comfortable looking sitting room and having a sedate cup of tea. For once, talking wasn’t going to fix this. She had the upper hand somehow, or at least, that was what she had gleaned from her protracted conversations with Luna. Neville had exposed his feelings on more than one occasion. He had allowed himself to be vulnerable, to share something he had been carrying around longer than Hermione could process and she hadn’t reciprocated enough for him to push again.</p><p>“Neville?” Hermione said and then took a single step towards him, but her meaning was apparently not understandable. Neville smiled at her and moved to turn down the corridor.</p><p>“I’ll just be in the kitchen,” he shouted back at her and Hermione’s fists balled at her sides.</p><p>
  <em> Oh no, you don’t. </em>
</p><p>Hermione didn’t let him get away from her this time. She was sure she looked a little ridiculous in her haste to catch up, which was no easy feat given the difference in their strides but she eventually managed to get in front of Neville just before he reached the kitchen door. </p><p>She didn’t have much time to think, and ‘off the cuff’ wasn’t exactly her favourite way to plan, but she knew she had to do something. Something bold. </p><p>Utilising his surprise, Hermione summoned all of her inner and physical strength and pushed against Neville’s chest until his back hit the door behind them and then she almost had to jump up to wrap her hands around the base of his neck so she could bring his lips down to hers. </p><p>Neville stayed perfectly still for three seconds, Hermione knew that exactly as despite her best intentions to lose herself in the moment she was counting. After that brief stilted pause that felt like a lifetime, Neville sprung into action.</p><p>He melted into her hold, his limbs that had been static climbed her body and his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him. Hermione’s fingers drifted into the hair at the nape of his neck as he pressed harder against her mouth, and she lifted herself higher onto her toes to meet him halfway.</p><p>The last residual shards of fear that had felt lodged into her lungs began to ease and fall away. Hermione felt like she could breathe properly for the first time since they had been sat in the Ministry together. </p><p>His tongue slid over the seam of her lips, and she parted under his instinct enquiry. His hand wrapped into the back of her hair, holding her to him as her legs felt weak and all she could think about was how he felt, how he smelled, how he tasted. </p><p>Eventually, Hermione had to break the kiss, for fear of collapsing breathlessly otherwise. Neville looked dazed when she pulled away. His eyes were closed, and his mouth was slightly parted so she could hear him taking heavy breaths.</p><p>“What?” he said eventually and then blinked his eyes open. His arms remained around her, holding Hermione to him as he studied her face. “Sorry, that wasn’t very articulate. But I mean… What?”</p><p>Hermione smiled, biting the side of her lip as she rested a hand against his chin. He had heavy stubble today, and it irritated her palm as he leaned into her touch. She didn’t care if it left a rash in its wake. In fact, she almost wished it would. It would be a reminder when she had left that this had actually happened. </p><p>Hermione sucked in a deep breath and reminded herself that this was her friend. He wasn’t capable of being cruel, even if she had got it all wrong and was making a colossal fool of herself.</p><p>“I was wondering,” she began falteringly. “If you would… would you go to dinner with me?”</p><p>One of Neville’s hands trailed up her back until his fingers were wrapped around her wrist that was currently propped up against his face. He gazed at her with an intensity Hermione hadn’t known he was capable of and she shuddered as that look seemed to drag her closer to him.</p><p>“<em>Why </em> do you want to go for dinner, Hermione?” he asked in a low rumble and Hermione’s reply was equally soft.</p><p>“I think you know.”</p><p>Neville shut his eyes and his fingers flexed around her slim wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind them both that they were locked in an impossibly tight embrace. “I need to hear you say it,” he said. It was half command, half plea and Hermione was powerless to ignore either. </p><p>“I’ve missed you since you… since you left,” Hermione admitted, whispering as if telling him a secret in a crowded room. “I started to think that… maybe I’ve <em> always missed </em> you, I just never gave myself a chance to realise it before. You made it clear, a few times, that you <em> might </em> be interested in being more than friends and if that is still the case, I’d like to explore that… with you.”</p><p>“You want to date?” Neville asked, stepping forward and twisting them around so their positions were reversed. Hermione was backed against the hallway wall, and Neville was standing over her with a look of disbelief etched all over his face. </p><p>“Yes,” Hermione replied with a quick nod. </p><p>“Me?” Neville asked, his eyebrows impossibly high as he moved his hand from hers and reached up to caress her cheek.</p><p>“Yes,” Hermione replied again, kissing his thumb as it swept over her lower lip. </p><p>“Exclusively?”</p><p>Hermione giggled. “Well, I don’t really like anyone else. And I… I don’t like to share.”</p><p>Neville’s answering smile was beaming, and Hermione couldn’t help but match it. “This is real?” he asked, with a hint of amusement. “Only, I had a massive lunch, and I’m half-convinced I might have fallen asleep and dreamt up this.”</p><p>“It’s real, Neville,” Hermione whispered, and Neville pulled on a curl that had slipped out of her loosely tied bun.</p><p>“You’re here?”</p><p>Hermione pushed herself off the wall, further invading his personal space. She was staring up at him with what she hoped were clear, honest eyes. “Neville, I’m here, <em> for you</em>. Touch me again if you need more convincing.”</p><p>The air changed then. That was the only way Hermione could describe it. All the cutesy butterfly feelings of the last few moments evaporated. Neville’s eyes darkened, his gaze widened and then narrowed and he reached up to remove her hand from his face.</p><p>“Neville… is everything okay?”</p><p>“I can <em> touch </em> you?” he asked, and this time his words weren’t layered with disbelief, there was a promise somewhere there, lingering beneath the surface, waiting, she just had to agree to go looking for it. </p><p>“You… can… you can touch me,” Hermione managed to stammer get out, and Neville stepped closer. Her bum hit the wall behind her, and her shoulders followed as she leant back to look in his eyes.</p><p>“Where?” Neville pressed as his hands hovered over her shoulders. </p><p>Hermione licked her bottom lip, and Neville’s eyes tracked the movement. “Anywhere.” </p><p>Neville inhaled deeply through his nose and stared down at her. “If I ask you to do something, will you promise to trust me... and not kill me?”</p><p>Hermione tilted her head. “It depends on what it is?”</p><p>He smirked at her. “Indulge me.”</p><p>Hermione managed to nod just once, but then everything happened quickly. Neville grabbed her under her arms and was lifting her off the floor before she could even think of protesting. They were back in the living room a moment later, and Neville put her back down, only her sandaled feet didn’t meet the carpet. He had dropped her down on the low coffee table in the middle of the room.</p><p>Standing like this, they were almost the same height. Neville inched forward until his feet were tucked under the table and then he put both his large hands on either side of her face. Studying her.</p><p>“Are you planning on exhibiting me here?” Hermione asked flippantly. </p><p>“That’s an idea,” he said with a grin. “I’ve… it was this silly little daydream I used to have, in the fifth year. I don’t know if you would remember, but I’d grown a bit over the summer-”</p><p>“- something of an understatement,” Hermione interjected under her breath.</p><p>“- And you hadn’t,” he continued staring at her pointedly. Hermione huffed, and Neville pressed a light kiss on the end of her nose. “I imagined what it would be like to do this in the common room one day so that we could be the same height, so I could kiss you and then look at your eyes afterwards.”</p><p>Hermione had thought back to her school years often over the last few weeks, but her memory raking had been fruitless. She hadn’t detected any hint that Neville had cared for her. Sure he had asked her to the Yule Ball, but that had been a school dance, nothing more. </p><p>“I didn’t know,” she said, meeting his gaze. </p><p>Neville smiled wryly. “I know you didn’t.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Hermione said earnestly. “I should have known.”</p><p>Neville shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I could have told you, if I’d been bold enough back then. But it never seemed like the right time.”</p><p>Hermione nodded in understanding. Their childhood hadn’t been typical by any means; what little time there had been left for adolescent romance had largely been squandered on the wrong people. </p><p>His thumb rubbed against her bottom lip. “Can I now? Kiss you, I mean.”</p><p>“You didn’t ask before,” Hermione replied with a snort. “Neither did I come to think of it.”</p><p>There was a moment where Neville looked strangely vulnerable. Hermione hadn’t seen him look like that for a long time. </p><p>“Fifteen year old Neville would have asked,” he murmured eventually, and Hermione squeezed his shoulder making him look at her again.</p><p>“Fifteen year old Neville isn’t here, and nor is fifteen year old Hermione, which is a good job as she couldn’t see what was right in front of her. I would like you to kiss me.”</p><p>He didn’t at first, at least, not in the way Hermione had been expecting. Neville rubbed his cheek against hers before pressing his lips over her earlobe. He slowly trailed his mouth over her cheek and over the line of her jaw, coming up to the corner of her mouth before eventually, meeting the fullness of her lips with his own. </p><p>He signed as she responded and almost seemed to be breathing her in. It was calm, lovingly warm and yet restrained. Hermione had no complaints, other than she suspected Neville was going with what he thought she wanted, rather than what his own desires were telling him. </p><p>Hermione knew Neville, knew him as he knew her. She knew that still waters ran deep with him. He was brave, and he was passionate, and she wanted him to let that out a little. To know that she was right there with him. So, Hermione thought about all she had gleaned from her somewhat patchy experience, and as his fingers scratched against her scalp, she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth and moaned as she deepened their kiss. </p><p>The effect was immediate. Neville’s hands fell to her waist, and he pulled them together, so tightly you couldn’t fit a hand between them, which gave her another idea. </p><p>Hermione felt like she was experiencing their kiss from outside of her own body, watching from above as a version of herself with more confidence took what she wanted. When Neville moaned into her mouth in protest when she edged herself back from him, ever so slightly, it gave Hermione enough room to cup him through his trousers. </p><p>“Hermione,” he said in a pained voice.</p><p>“Neville,” she replied, looking at him beseechingly, “don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”</p><p>Neville’s hands tightened on her body, and for a moment, Hermione was sure he was going to push her away from him, and then, he straightened. Neville raised his eyes to look at her, and they seemed to be filled with determination. He gripped her around her middle, holding her tight before tucking his head back over to her ear.</p><p>“Hands on my shoulders, legs around my waist,” he commanded, and Hermione had two seconds of complete pause before her mind caught up with the words being heavily breathed into her ear. She rushed to comply, pulling up the skirt of her dress to allow her legs to cross over behind him. </p><p>Neville stepped back towards the door but instead of going through it, as Hermione had been expecting, he reached past her to push it shut and then forced her up against it. His fingers trembled at her waist, and he rested his forehead against hers, breathing hotly against her neck. </p><p>“Are you sure?” he asked seriously, and Hermione nodded. She had never been sure of anything in her life. </p><p>“Yes. Yes, please.”</p><p>“Okay, I’m a bit… Do you mind if I’m a bit rough?” he asked urgently. “I feel like I’ve needed to do this for a long time and it might…”</p><p>“I trust you,” Hermione interjected and kissed the underside of his jaw.</p><p>“Yeah?” he asked, though his hands were already scrunched in the fabric of her hideously crumpled dress.</p><p>“Yes,” Hermione confirmed with a pleased hiss as he slipped the first button on her bodice free and then worked down to the next one and then the next. </p><p>“Did you wear this intentionally?” he asked with a smile and Hermione flushed. The dress was a simple one, too thin for the weather really but she felt comfortable in it. It fit close over her chest and then flowed over her legs, done up at the front with a straight line of buttons from neck to hem. She just liked the colour on her. The fact that it was ‘easy access’ was a bonus she was trying to convince herself she hadn’t thought of before leaving the house. </p><p>Neville trailed his fingers up her thighs as he opened the last button and he pushed back her dress till it hung off her arms. Opening her like curtains and leaving her exposed in just her underwear. Hermione was dimly aware that she would usually feel self-conscious, but it was almost impossible to think with Neville looking at her like he was with his hands trailing up to flick at the lace trim on the side of her knickers. </p><p>He kissed her then, harder and more desperately than he had before, and the pads of his fingers slipped to her cotton covered centre. </p><p>“Fuuuuck,” he moaned into her shoulder. “You’re soaked.”</p><p>Hermione felt herself flush, and she couldn’t think up the quick response she wanted to make. She luxuriated in his light touch until Neville encouraged her to put her legs down on the floor. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her to pull her probably ruined knickers down her body. Before Hermione could comprehend it, he was standing again, and he reached up to unclasp the clip at the front of her bra, leaving it hanging off her like her dress. </p><p>Neville gripped the bottom of his shirt, never taking his eyes off her as he pulled it over his head in one swift movement. Hermione was captivated by his arms as they crisscrossed over his head and then as they fell back to his sides, she became aware of his fully exposed torso. If Hermione had thought it was overwhelming to see his defined arms in a well-fitted t-shirt, it was nothing to seeing him bare. She only hoped he was as taken with her body as she was with his. </p><p>She leaned forward to reach for his belt and relished in the concentration needed to undo the buckle. If she stared at his chest too long, she was likely to become insensible.</p><p>When they were better attired, or rather lesser attired, Neville encouraged her to jump up on him again, and they resumed their position against the wall. This time there was nothing tentative about his hands. Hermine had barely found her balance, perched on his hips before he sunk two fingers into her. </p><p>“Oh,” Hermione squeaked already feeling impossibly warm and full, and Neville trailed kisses up her neck. </p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Yeesss,” she hissed as he began pumping in and out of her, curling his fingers on every third thrust. </p><p>“You look amazing like this,” he panted. “You always look amazing but like this… fucking hell Hermione… so beautiful, the noise you make, you're so good.”</p><p>His words affected her almost as much as the movement of his fingers. Hermione had always reacted intensely to praise, and he seemed to know that about her. Of course he did, he knew everything, even without having to ask. Neville peppered kisses all over her face as her skin misted with sweat until she could feel her peak approaching. </p><p>“What do you need?” he asked as she felt the unmistakable hardness of his cock press against her inner thigh. </p><p>“More… you… just more…”</p><p>Neville nodded against her skin and then twisted his hand to rub his palm against her clit. It bumped along her most sensitive area as he relentlessly worked her with his fingers.</p><p>“Neville,” she panted as her fingers bit into his shoulders. </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I… oh… <em> there.</em>”</p><p>Hermione stiffened and then inched up the wall, trying to both absorb and escape the pleasure at the same time. Neville’s face followed hers, kissing her softly as his hands worked hard and fast. It made her feel desired and safe and a whole ball of other things that she couldn’t quite name. </p><p>“Look at me. <em> Please </em> look at me, Hermione.”</p><p>Hermione hadn’t even realised she had closed her eyes, but she opened them again, and he kissed her in reward, swallowing her enviable scream of release. His hand never stopped moving, but his strokes became languid after she stopped clenching down on him. </p><p>Neville helped her put her feet back down onto the ground and then he dropped to the floor again, undoing and then throwing her sandals down the hall. Hermione sagged in gratitude. Her shaky legs had not appreciated their slight heel. Neville grabbed onto her discarded dress on either side of her and pulled it down her arms. </p><p>“All off now,” he insisted as the dress and her bra joined the rest of her outfit further down the hall.</p><p>“Resetting the scene?” Hermione asked with a laugh, and Neville smiled bashfully at her.</p><p>“I’ve had a lot of time to think of different ones.”</p><p>As if they had been doing it for years, she got back into his arms again quickly, and Neville wasted no time in resting against her. </p><p>“Your skin feels amazing,” he said into her collarbone, and Hermione leant forward, pulling at the fastening of his jeans and releasing each heavy button one by one. </p><p>Neville twisted them down just enough before he settled into the cradle of her thighs. He wasn’t wearing underwear. </p><p>Just, <em> Jesus Christ</em>. </p><p>“Still okay?”</p><p>Hermione whimpered in response and pulled him closer before trailing her fingers down his front until she could guide him into her. </p><p>Although in some ways they had been leading to this for months, it still felt sudden when Neville finally surged forward and fitted himself inside her.</p><p>“Merlin you feel like fucking heaven,” Neville groaned as Hermione was reminding himself how to breathe. </p><p>Neville set a steady pace, and he hadn’t been wrong about being rough. He was never close to hurting her, but there was a ferociousness to him, a desperation, that Hermione hadn’t expected. </p><p>
  <em> His fingers that had until moments ago been buried in the earth outside were now leaving soil all over her skin. Every now and again as he moved she could feel a coarse grit under his fingers that was irritating her skin and when she looked down, she could see painterly stripes of mottled brown his deft hands had left in their wake.   </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione gasped as Neville rutted forward and the force of his upwards thrust made her head bang against the wall behind them. At this point, it was well worth a mild conclusion, just as long as he never stopped what he was doing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione clenched her thighs to hold on as Neville somehow sped up again. It occurred to her, as she bit into his shoulder in an effort to stifle the scream that was building in her throat, that she hadn’t once thought about the paintwork behind her head or how her low heels must have damaged the coffee table she had been perched on earlier to give them the extra height they had needed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Neville muttered an apology as he gripped her hip almost too tightly but the words ended on a groan that made Hermione shudder. He lifted his head to bite at her earlobe and then panted in her ear. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “So good, so fucking good, Hermione. Can’t… Can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this. I’ve stripped myself raw thinking of you… imagining you, wanting me.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Hermione whimpered. He didn’t have to tell her, she could feel it. Despite his apparent carnal desperation, the sex was intensely personal. This wasn’t just about getting off, Neville wanted her, he had been driven to this level of extreme need by her. It was intoxicating, and it left Hermione wondering how in the hell she had missed such palpable chemistry before. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Neville gripped her sides and pushed her higher up the wall before pinning his forearm across her shoulders to lock her into place. Hermione felt her eyes cross as they fluttered closed.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It shouldn’t have been this good. </em>
</p><p>He let a hand trail down her body, rubbing a few quick circles against her clit before he pushed forward, pressing his torso against her to hold her up as his hands landed on her knees. He urged them back towards the wall, opening her wider until her knees almost touched the paintwork behind her. Hermione couldn’t do anything but take it. </p><p>Every time he entered her, the force of it was making her bounce, but she couldn’t do anything to fight the gravity that made her come back down, impaling herself again on his waiting body.</p><p>“Neville… I’m,” she started, but she got caught on a gasp and couldn’t finish what she needed to say. Thankfully he seemed to have got the message. </p><p>“Thank Merlin, I’m begging to see stars.”</p><p>She started to laugh and then it ended on a scream.</p><p>It felt as if her whole body twisted in on itself when she came. Her face scrunched and her toes crossed, and she held on for dear life as Neville growled out with his release above her.</p><p>He held her there, against the wall as they both caught their breath and then he lowered her to the floor before disappearing, coming back only a moment later with a blanket from the living room that he wrapped her in before picking her up and making his way to the stairs. </p><p>Dimly, Hermione was aware that he was still wearing his jeans. She didn’t want to think about the mess she would have made of them.</p><p>“Are you still going to let me take you for dinner?” he asked as they reached the landing, and Hermione fitted herself closer to his chest. </p><p>“I thought I was supposed to be taking you?”</p><p>“Not a chance,” he replied with a grin. “So, how does tomorrow suit you?”</p><p>Hermione kissed his cheek. “After that, I might be skipping a few steps, when can I move in?”</p><p>He smiled at her in that boyish way she was beginning to love. “Wherever you like.”</p><hr/><p>
  <em> DAY ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY </em>
</p><p>Hermione sat in her newly painted study amongst her newly arranged furniture and held her chin in her hand as Harry spoke from the fireplace, telling her she <em> needed </em> to come to the Ministry.</p><p>She smiled at her friend fondly and rolled her eyes when he began throwing compliments at her with the hope of persuading her. “Okay,” she said eventually, cutting him off before he embarrassed them both. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”</p><p>Neville came into the room as the fireplace died. “Was that Harry?” he asked, looking at the smouldering ash, and Hermione nodded. </p><p>“Yes, same old drill. I shouldn’t be too long. It sounds like they’re having trouble hunting down a book or something.”</p><p>Hermione waffled on about what Harry had told her until she realised Neville was no longer at the door. </p><p>She got up from her seat and spun around, as firm hands appeared from behind her and lifted her onto the desk.</p><p>“Only an afternoon job, you think?”</p><p>Hermione nodded. “A day tops.”</p><p>“If they expect you to go into hiding with some wizard to save the world again, you better come back and discuss it with me first. You know how the last time ended up.”</p><p>“Really?” she asked, quirking her brow. “That’s funny because I think it was less of a ‘in hiding’ thing and more of a being in an idyllic little house <em> with </em> Neville Longbottom thing.”</p><p>He grinned at her. “If you say so.”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Then go be brilliant,” he encouraged, kissing her cheek. “But remember, I’m making a carbonara tonight, and it would be a shame to make me eat alone.”</p><p>Hermione rolled her eyes. “I won’t be long,” she repeated. “I wouldn’t miss dinner with you, or more specifically, your pasta.”</p><p>Hermione lowered herself from the desk and pulled out a few things from her drawers that she might need. “They should be asking you know,” she called to Neville as he made to leave. “You were the main contributor to solving things last time we were together.”.</p><p>“No,” Neville challenged. “I just got lucky.”</p><p>He stared at her intently until she didn’t feel she could look away. “I got really, <em> really </em>lucky."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A/N: And that is the last instalment. Full circle. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for being along for the ride. </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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